The Art of Lust

********Short and hot, stories in this series are meant for those of you ready to get off in about 3500 words. Oops, this one just had to be a bit longer (5K words), but I think you'll appreciate the slightly longer read. Thanks for all your previous comments and suggestions!********

"Did you get into VIS201?" asked Amanda. They were walking down Uni Place in John's first fall semester at Princeton in 2012. Glad to be off of Staten Island, but skeptical of what following his parent's wishes would get him, he was trying to stay open to whatever being at an Ivy League school might offer. In his heart John knew he was drawn first to carpentry, second to sex. Or maybe it was the other way around. Too bad I can't get an advanced degree in those, he thought, Dad and Aunt Gloria gave me a good grounding in each.

"No, looks like it's already full," he said with mock lament, "I guess for my art requirement I'll have to watch a lot of movies in Chandler's class."

"Be careful there, John," laughed Amanda, "I hear the final essay'll kick your ass." Amanda was a new friend. Energetic and light-hearted, she made good company in his orientation to University life. She reminded him of his third sister, Maria. They both had athletics in common, bodies that resulted from lots of running and were Einstein-smart. Amanda was as easy to tease as Maria, too.

"Well, you know how much I wanted to have a Life Drawing class this semester," he said, knowing she was a pretty fierce feminist, having a youthful enthusiasm for the subject a lot like Maria did. "I like to look at naked women at least once a week."

"Pervert," rejoined Amanda, smiling, "You're just a man." As if that explained everything.

"It's just that I think that men and women should be able to relate physically without all the complicating political stuff." Aunt Gloria taught him that.

"It's men that made it complicated. Patriarchy, etc, etc, etc.," she said. They'd covered this ground early in their friendship, all of a week ago. For now it was all talk.

"Well, give you and me a chance to uncomplicate it together...?"

"Keep it in your pants, John," she glanced at the formidable lump in his jeans, "Look for your relief elsewhere." And that was about as far as he could get with her. She had boundaries and he'd respect them. Aunt Gloria'd taught him so much about how to approach a woman. First, don't push too hard. Amanda didn't explain exactly why she was resistant to his charms and he didn't press her. In fact, he resolved, that was the last time he'd even hint that he thought they could enjoy time together between the sheets.

"You should check out the sessions over at the Princeton Arts Society if you really have to ogle naked women that badly." The girl showed the tiniest hint of resentment. Maybe she was just subconsciously angry at herself for denying her own interests on the grounds of her 'principles'. By the time they'd gotten to his dorm the conversation had drifted to other classes and hopes for the year.

John took note of the idea, though, and checked the PAS website later, where, he saw, they had drop-in life drawing sessions. They weren't classes, but only draw-on-your-own events. They were led by a proctor named Isabelle Starnes, not an instructor. He was glad - he had enough instruction and judgment pressure with classes during the week. On Sunday morning he dropped in to a session with his newspaper pad and charcoal. The regulars milled around setting up and making small talk. Looked like about four women, mostly gray haired, and two men, also older. He supposed these sessions were for retired folks and their hobby. John was the only one under forty, it appeared.

He set up on the side by the floor-to-ceiling windows and waited. John didn't have much confidence in his ability to draw well. He'd done OK in high school, though he'd never had a nude model. He admitted to himself that his main interest here was to see real naked bodies in a way that wasn't as sleazy as internet porn or a strip club. For him, gazing at a woman was a form of worship and it was appropriate that this session happened on Sunday. Unlike the older men here, he supposed he'd have many young naked women in his life, whereas they probably just had their wrinkled, dried up old wives, if any. It gave him an appreciation for his youth - an unexpected first lesson. Even before the model appeared he was humbled.

A middle aged woman, presumably Ms. Starnes, entered the room, followed by a younger one looking much like a student, wearing only a robe.

"Good morning, everyone," said the older woman, who, he noticed, was trim and kept her hair tied in a bandana in a messy pile on her head. Her chambray shirt and paint-splattered cotton pants fit loosely on her tall, poised frame. "We have the good fortune to have Genevieve as our model today. So we can ask for a more challenging pose and expect her excellent ability to hold it."

There was an approving murmur from the group. John watched the proctor discuss with Genevieve how she'd pose on the low bench in the middle of the room. They considered and discarded a few props, then settled on a deep blue cloth draped over the bench and a small bird's nest to be held in the model's hand. The robed girl tried several articulations, then, after the proctor asked the group for approval, settled on a pose.

"We'll do twenty minute segments today," said the proctor, "One long pose for the full three hours, starting when Genevieve is ready." Most, including the proctor, picked up their drawing tools and stood eagerly to start. John watched the model with a feigned air of professional interest, trying not to look like the pervert Amanda accused him of being. Was there a way for a man his age who had a history of often and prodigious erections to keep from embarrassing himself? Would anyone here even notice or care if he got a cock cramp in his pants?

Genevieve carefully and nonchalantly slipped off the robe and dropped it on the floor. Taking the bird's nest in her right hand, she eased to a sitting position on the bench with her left calf up under her right thigh, then she leaned back on her left hand and looked up toward the corner of the ceiling above John's head. Her breasts swelled on her chest, her areola a deep pink, the nipples quiescent in the hot room. The light from behind John illuminated the V where her neatly trimmed bush graced an unashamedly presented sex. He could see her puffy labia and just a hint of her clitoral hood. He tried to look at her hands and feet and hair but his eyes returned to that delta.

He realized that several minutes had passed without his starting and he heard the scratch of pencil on paper around him. Everyone else was intent on their work. None of the men looked lecherous. He'd have to practice being immune to the model's sexiness. The proctor eyed him over her easel and he hurried to get some marks on his paper, hoping his lust didn't telegraph itself on his face. His reliable erection was hidden to all by the pad he held in his lap. Nervous and thrilled, John tried to look like he knew what he was doing.

If he just looked at the delicious model as a collection of shapes, of positive and negative spaces, if he labored over getting the drawing right, he forgot that there was a juicy, warm and exposed woman's sex just feet from his eyes. His trysts with Gloria had taught him much, but they had always moved rapidly from first arousal to completion as much because of his aunt's appetite as his youthful one. This was an interesting exercise in restraint. At the end of the three hours, when the model casually re-robed and all of those present lined up their work, John's arousal had become about his success or failure in drawing rather than about the specific woman he was drawing. His erection was gone. It occurred to him that he'd never been with a naked woman and not had sex with her. Thank you God and Gloria for that, he thought.

This time the naked woman slipped from the room without comment and the artists gave each other encouragement and props for their work. And each one was so different! Some of the folks there used color lavishly and didn't concern themselves with the accuracy of the drawing. One man had made a delicate spider-web-like tracery of the figure with a single rose-colored pencil that was exquisite. His own work reflected his lack of experience - it was definitely high-school level.

But Ms. Starnes came to his shoulder and commented, "I like your natural sense of shape. And I can see that you have a good eye for values." John felt her body beside him, her soft shirt, the messy hair, her lithe posture. He supposed that his senses might be aroused from staring at the model all morning, but also there was an echo of aunt Gloria in the woman. He caught a whiff of interest in him as well as his drawing. He felt his pants tighten a bit.

"Well," he said, "This can't compare to the other work here."

"That'll come with experience," she smiled.

"I guess I'll need to keep coming back to get any." He looked her in the eye with the confidence of the mature and talented lover that Gloria'd made him. She noticed.

"You do that, John." She touched his arm delicately with her elegant fingers before turning away, smiling. "You do that."

So over the first semester he spent many Sundays at the sessions, looked for hours at naked women of all shapes and not a few men, too. After a while he began to wonder if this is how doctors became jaded. One naked body was much like the next. The novelty of nudity passed and he began to really look at what small things made each one unique. He learned how fat distributes itself differently on different people. On some it was a definite plus, on others not so much, even if it made them interesting to draw.

John's classes kept him extremely busy and his brain going at a furious pace. It was good to do something that flowed straight from the eye through his fingers to the paper without having to think hard about it. And he did get better. He called Ms. Starnes Isabelle now, as she insisted. She always took a moment to chat with him after the sessions, always touched him somewhere before they left the room. He wasn't insensible to the attraction she had for him. He wondered if, like Gloria, she'd let her hunger get the best of her. John, with so much going on at college, could enjoy the glow of her attraction, but wasn't sure he had the energy to pursue it. His aunt had worn him out even when he didn't have other obligations.

And then there was Amanda, who'd charmed him with her energetic and buoyant response to being in college. She was blooming in the Princeton environment, like a flower too long in a dim window now set in full sunlight. It was a joy to be in her company and they talked about all the new ideas they were encountering. As Amanda put it their brains were fizzing with the stimulation. Still, her new growth didn't extend to considering time in bed with John. He tested her not by a frontal approach, not by veiled or blatant physicality or even asking if she'd softened on her posture toward men. As far as he could tell from what she said about her days, she wasn't opening to any other man, or woman, for that matter.

So John took to comfortably showing her the products of his drawing sessions. She seemed eager to watch his progress. They could talk about the results of his looking at other naked women but never got anywhere near touching the subject of attraction between the two of them. He kinda hoped that at least he put in her mind the idea of him with a naked woman and by association the subconscious certainty and acceptance of such a scenario. A scenario that she, God willing, might at last decide could include her.

********

One late Sunday in December, with snow piled beside the shoveled walks, he found himself in the drawing room with just four other folks; Isabelle, two women, Barb and Sylvia and one man, Bob, from the regulars. The holidays and the snow had taken a toll on their attendance. He realized that this was a time of his week that he just couldn't do without. It was therapeutic. And he did get his need to look at naked women met, even if he wasn't getting laid.

The model was late. The group chatted amongst themselves for a while, but as the minutes ticked by past the starting time, they got concerned. He'd never experienced artist-interruptus before - it was a strange feeling. Was it the need to get into the flow state that drawing provided, the need to see flesh, the state of simmering low-key arousal that marked his now regular routine on Sunday morning?

Isabelle ended a phone call and said to the artists, "Well, looks like Genevieve's got car trouble and she won't make it today." Expressions of disappointment were heard all around. John began to pack up his kit.

"One of us could model," he heard one of the older women say. There was no response but when he looked up they were all looking at him.

"What?" he said, frozen in place.

"Well," said Isabelle, a cat-that-caught-the-canary look on her face, "In a pinch we sometimes have to make do."

John felt both a skeptical self-consciousness and a thrilled sense of affirmation rise in him. "Maybe we should draw straws." This caused a lot of head-shaking and dismissive murmurings around the room. The two older women gave each other a knowing look and then cast John a hungry one. Was this a conspiracy? Was he in a den of cougars? Bob just said, "Never gonna happen, no sir," and crossed his arms firmly across his ample belly.

"John," Isabelle offered, "I understand you might be reluctant to pose for us, but consider that we're all professionals here. I mean, we know model protocols - you won't be looked at sexually. You know that." No, he didn't know that. He looked at the models sexually all the time, he just didn't show it on the outside.

"I'm not a professional model," he countered.

"But you look like one. Michelangelo used you for his David, obviously. Surely you're aware of the resemblance." That was true. He'd been compared to the statue many times, especially since filling out in that last year of high school. Gloria teased him about it alot.

"You'll get fifty bucks and a cool line to put on your resume'..." Isabelle had a familiar heat in her eyes and her fellow cougars were clearly hoping he'd say yes. One other thing he'd learned from bedding his aunt; taking a risk could yield a huge reward. He let his innermost feelings rise up in him without judgment and discovered that in his gut the right answer was just what he finally said, "Hell, yes."

The room was abuzz with a kind of glee. He wouldn't have imagined that the idea of him being naked could cause such energy, but as he began unbuttoning his shirt he noticed Barb drop her handful of pencils, Sylvia begin rubbing her arms like she was cold and Isabelle simply smiling ear-to-ear. Bob averted his eyes and cleared his throat, but he stayed by the easel, ready to draw.

In a moment he was naked, his clothes in a pile. "How do you want me to pose?" he asked, still with an urge to put his hands over his crotch, standing awkwardly half shielding himself.

"Oh, how about just like the David? Stand on the platform." And Isabelle came closer, hands out as if to move him into position like a doll. She wasn't allowed to touch the model, though, and stopped inches away, gesturing, "Like this...this arm on the shoulder, these knuckles on your thigh." He felt the electricity of her hands moving so close to his body as he turned and assumed the pose. Now his hips were cocked just so and his organ and balls hung loose. She could have bent over just a bit and licked them. He turned to look at a spot on the wall that Isabelle pointed to as she backed slowly to her easel, her eyes traveling his full length. She looked smugly satisfied. He felt the laser heat of all the eyes in the room.

"Begin," Isabelle said, and she squinted at him, scratching at her paper.

John took deep breaths and tried to be still. It wasn't a hard pose to hold, except maybe for his left hand raised to his shoulder, but he could bear it. He almost chuckled at the thought, and I can also bare it, as he felt the weight of his cock. It was filling slowly. The more the women noticed, the more it swelled. No one said anything and he closed his eyes. That didn't help as he then saw them not just staring and drawing, but imagined the effects of his nakedness on them. John conjured them biting their lips, hands almost unconsciously rising to undo buttons on their shirts, shimmying down their pants. He opened his eyes and none of that was happening. But he was at full mast now.

Still no one spoke. Staring at the point on the wall he could only see from the corner of his eye that he had their rapt attention. Bob looked very uncomfortable, but he soldiered on with his sketching. The three women were drawing, too. Were they doing his full figure or just his erection? Could they see it pulse with this heartbeat? He wondered if he could take their drawings and show them to Amanda. Crap, now he was thinking of her athletic and nubile figure and her smile, her delighted smile as she saw his raging cock for the first time, albeit in pencil and not in the flesh. Surely, if she did she'd want the real thing?

John tried to let the weight of his six-foot-four-inch body sink through him and anchor him to the floor. But his arousal made him want to rise up on the balls of his feet, to grab a woman or two! and wrestle them to the floor. Shit! He thought, I wish aunt Gloria were here to tell me what to do. Or fuck me like that time in her kitchen..." These thoughts didn't help with the erection.

Then Isabelle's lithe body got his attention. He knew she was slim under those flannel shirts. He suspected she went braless at least part of the time. She didn't wear the pants tight, but they draped nicely over a toned ass. The woman moved like an actual cougar, all smooth and silky and poised. Maybe this would be the thing that broke her. Maybe she would at last succumb to the desire she'd plainly felt for him. Gloria'd said that women would be falling all over him, especially if he didn't scare them off with the kind of testosterone-fueled aggressiveness that most young men displayed. After all, Isabelle'd insisted he get naked. Maybe she was outwitting her own caution by putting him on display for herself. John held that thought as he held his pose, his manhood proudly erect and the rest of him quivering now with lust.

The buzzer went off, indicating that twenty minutes had passed. Only twenty minutes?! He thought. He was supposed to stretch and give his body a chance to relax for a bit. He turned to the wall to hide his rampant cock, feeling awkward. He heard the women giggling amongst themselves. Bob even joked, "Maybe you ladies want to give John an extra twenty for the bonus content today."

"Let's keep it professional, folks," said Isabelle, but there was mirth in her voice. John turned back to them and, try as he might, he couldn't help looking each one of them straight in the eye as he mounted the platform again. He was half hard. The women each were clearly impressed, maybe disturbed, by what he was showing. Good, he decided. Their lives were probably devoid of such fleshy wonders. Maybe they'd never ever seen such a large cock. Maybe Isabelle would take him aside at the end of the session and finally jump his bones. He didn't care what Bob thought, but he was grateful for the left-handed compliment. And they were paying him to have this erection, essentially. It's no bonus, it comes with the package, he thought.

So as the next several twenty minute periods passed he thought without embarrassment about what he and Isabelle might do. At first he imagined the tall woman stopping in her drawing and just staring hard at his hardness, as if undecided, as if fighting with herself about what to do. She'd finally reach to her top button and begin slowly peeling away her shirt. The flannel would fall from her shoulders to reveal a pair of unholstered breasts, pale and freckled, still round and full, if heavy. Her nipples would be crinkled already, their dark red knobby areola like smears of paint. When she pulled the shirt down her arms and tossed it aside, they'd jiggle like aunt Gloria's did. The other women in the room would be struggling to draw but also watching their proctor undress.